


To Be Ridden

by rosewiththorns



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Master/Slave, Non-consensual sex, Oral Sex, Rape, Sexual Submission, Spanking, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Shasta can escape, the Tarkaan comes to claim his new property in the stables. Trigger warnings for child and sexual abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Ridden

“This boy is manifestly no son of yours, for your cheek is as dark as mine but the boy is fair and white like the accursed but beautiful barbarians who inhabit the remote North.”—Tarkaan Anradin describes Shasta to Arsheesh in the midst of purchasing the boy from the fisherman. 

To be Ridden 

Curled up on a mound of hay in the donkey’s stable, Shasta tossed fitfully, trying to find a comfortable position and unable to stop debating with himself whether the Tarkaan would be kinder to him than Arsheesh was, and how many crescents the Tarkaan would end up paying for the privilege of owning him. In the midst of his stupor, he had a distant rustling of hay and assumed it was mice crawling around, but when he felt the floor tremble as hard feet more accustomed to marching than walking approached, he knew that the Tarkaan, as if summoned by his musings, had arrived in the stable. 

“Boy with the pale face of the moon,” the Tarkaan addressed Shasta in eloquent terms as Shasta scrambled into a kneel. “I am your new master now. In your world, it will be as if the sun only shines when the smile of my favor is upon you. Should I be a kind or cruel master to you?” 

“Kind, I beg you, O Magnificent Lord.” Shasta ducked his forehead so that it pressed against the scratchy hay in a genuflect. “I shall be a good and faithful servant.” 

“You’re my servant, worm.” To Shasta’s utter bafflement, the Tarkaan popped open the buttons on his silk breeches, revealing a hairy member longer than Shasta’s burgeoning one and Arsheesh’s withered one. Thrusting his penis near Shasta’s mouth, which had practically fallen to the floor in shock, the Tarkaan added, “We’ll test the good and faithful part. Make your lips a sheath for my sword, and then polish its length with your tongue.” 

Uncertain of what the perverse poetry in the Tarkaan’s speech meant but confident with a sick feeling that collapsed his heart into his intestines that he was overstepping his bounds and would be castrated if he was lucky, Shasta shut his mouth around the Tarkaan’s organ. 

With a groan that terrified Shasta because it contained all the suppressed might of a war drum, the Tarkaan grabbed Shasta’s ears and yanked him forward, so that his entire penis was shoved down Shasta’s aching throat. 

Shasta felt each throbbing veins on the Tarkaan’s cock as it pushed down his throat, and he gagged. He received a stinging cuff to first his right and then his left cheek as punishment for his apparent insolence, and he couldn’t even scream out his fear or pain as the Tarkaan’s member continued to pump in and out of his mouth like water from a well. 

Salty liquid that Shasta hoped wasn’t urine—although he didn’t know what else it could be---streamed out of the Tarkaan’s frantic penis, and the Tarkaan, as he clenched Shasta’s nostrils between his fingertips, ordered tersely, “Swallow every drop like it’s sherbet, or I won’t withdraw, and you’ll suffocate.” 

Already seeing stars of a thousand colors dancing in constellations before his blurring eyes, Shasta swallowed and felt the liquid slicing into his cut throat like salt in a wound. Once the Tarkaan released his nose and removed the cock from between Shasta’s lips, Shasta sputtered for air and wished that he was still the fisherman’s property, since Arsheesh had never attempted to claim his body in any way that felt so dirty and humiliating. 

“You resisted me and gagged as though my glorious organ was repulsive to you, a vile slave,” hissed the Tarkaan, glaring at Shasta with contempt mingled with lust in eyes as cold and hard as obsidian. “For that mutiny and insult to my honor, you will be punished, but first you must strip, because I did not buy those rags for you, which makes it theft for you to wear them around your soft, white skin. Remove your tunic.” 

Twin sunsets blazing in his cheeks, Shasta started to lift his tunic with shaking fingers, and he had just risen it above his navel when the Tarkaan snarled, “Halt for a minute. I wish to examine this part of my purchase in greater detail.” 

His fingers crawling like spiders, the Tarkaan’s hands climbed up Shasta’s legs from his ankles to his thighs as Shasta tried to pretend that he was somewhere else—perhaps riding free in Narnia. As Shasta imagined crossing a sunny northern meadow, the Tarkaan’s palms cupped and rubbed the matching spheres of his buttocks through the rough material of his breeches before delving into the outline of Shasta’s crevice. 

Once the Tarkaan’s hands had explored the terrain of Shasta’s backside as Shasta was envisioning doing to Narnia, the Tarkaan moved his attention to the front of Shasta’s privates, pulling at Shasta’s penis and squeezing at his testes as though drawing milk from a cow’s udder. Biting his lip so hard the iron taste of blood flooded his mouth, Shasta trapped a howl in his throat as the Tarkaan’s palms stroked the bare skin of his stomach and poked at his belly button. 

“Lift your tunic up to your shoulders, and let it rest there,” commanded the Tarkaan, and his eyes fixated on the slender chest Shasta revealed as he tugged up his tunic and folded it over his shoulders. 

The Tarkaan’s hands pinched and tickled—one instant harsh as hail and the next soft as a sun shower---a path up to Shasta’s nipples, which were pert and erect from the night chill. Once the Tarkaan’s palms found the rosebuds on Shasta’s chest, his fingers dug into them until Shasta yelped like a whipped dog in agony. Then the Tarkaan leaned over to gnaw at the tender, abused nipples with his sharp teeth while tears welled in Shasta’s eyes. 

Once he had nipped on each bud twenty times—Shasta kept track because it numbed some of the pain and helped him feel a certain distance from what was being done to his body, which he was trying to pretend wasn’t really him at all—the Tarkaan pulled his lips away from Shasta’s chest with a moist suckering sound reminiscent of a newt’s and growled, “Pull your tunic all the way off now.” 

As soon as Shasta’s quaking fingers obeyed, the Tarkaan massaged Shasta’s shoulders and then pressed his mouth incessantly against Shasta’s, pummeling at Shasta’s tongue with his own while Shasta, knowing better than to fight his new master’s dominance, stifled a reflexive bite at the intruding, questing organ roving the inside of his mouth like an enemy scout. 

After dislodging his tongue and lips from Shasta’s now bruised ones, the Tarkaan leered at the fabric covering Shasta’s groin. “Lower your breeches to your knees, pale face.” 

Thinking that his face had to be more crimson than white, Shasta fumbled the buttons of his breeches, and wishing that his master wasn’t staring at his privates as if they contained the secret of the universe, slowly guided his breeches past his hips, down his thighs, and finally to wrap around his kneecaps. 

Grabbing a leather riding crop from a hook on the stable wall and sitting on a bale of hay, the Tarkaan tapped his own thighs, snapping, “Lie across my lap now, wretch. You can’t stave off punishment for your defiance with your decadent body any longer.” 

Schooled in how to take a beating from a lifetime of living under Arsheesh’s swinging fists, Shasta bent over the Tarkaan’s lap and stiffened as he heard the whistle of leather piercing through air a split second before it lanced into his flesh. Three more heavy blows struck the same region of his bottom before the crop traveled down an inch to smack the next sliver of his backside four times. For what seemed like an eternity, the Tarkaan repeated this process until every speck of Shasta’s rump and thighs were swollen scarlet from the vicious contact of the crop. 

At first, Shasta was crying too hard to notice when the Tarkaan put down the crop, but when he felt one hand stroking his burning bottom while the other rubbed at his penis and testes, he realized with a gasp that both his master’s hands were full and neither held the riding crop. 

“Sit up on my lap.” The Tarkaan’s hands stopped groping at Shasta’s rump and groin for a moment as he spoke and Shasta complied. “I will finish your whipping by hitting your front with the crop. If you squirm or cover yourself, I will begin this beating all over again.” 

Positioned with his vulnerable cock and testes in front of him, Shasta, unable to close his eyes, watched as the Tarkaan snatched up the crop and whacked it against his member. Wincing and howling since he had never experienced a more severe torture, Shasta endured five more blows to his penis and then a series of six smarting smacks to each testicle. 

Once the Tarkaan finally placed the crop down for a second time, he announced, “You will now bend over the hay bale and submit yourself entirely to me.” 

Noting inwardly that this sounded ominous, Shasta complied and tried to ignore every shouting protest from his privates as he spread himself across the prickly hay with his buttocks prominently displayed like a battle banner. 

He felt the Tarkaan’s demanding fingers—damp with saliva—digging through his crevice until they tore into his hole, dividing him like war plunder, so that when the man’s cock ripped into his anus, it only bled a little. 

Shasta wept and pounded the hay bale with his fists as the Tarkaan rode him like a pony, and then rose and disappeared from, the stable. At that point, Shasta wanted nothing more than to be alone in his grief and shame, but the Tarkaan’s horse began addressing him. Well aware that animals could not speak, Shasta at first thought he must be going insane, but, in the end, he allowed himself to be persuaded to run away with the horse if only for the twisted justice of stealing from his owner.


End file.
